Foul Ball
Chapter 42: Macey

Jayce ended up talking me into packing some more stuff and moving in temporarily with him. I continued to pay rent, though my savings was running out, and since I couldn't work as much recently, I was going broke. After I'd called and told my parents the news, successfully putting a dent in my mother's happy, happy life, I told Hansen and Paisley too, and Hansen offered more than once to pay to Jayce while I was living there with him, anything to help. Jayce refused, of course, and any money I received from Hansen went straight to rent at the apartment. I tried to refuse any sort of payment from my uncle, of course, but he threatened to give it straight to Jayce if I didn't use it well, so I thanked him and did everything I could to survive.

It was Monday morning a week later, and Jayce was at class while I paced slowly around the house, cell phone to my ear as my mother, who had been going on and on for the last forty-five minutes, continued to go on. "Your father and I think you should move home," she said, again. I could tell she was trying to keep herself composed and not lose it from fifteen hundred miles away, and I wanted to give her props for it. She'd kept a relatively cool head so far, which wasn't her usual demeanor.

"Thanks for the offer, Mom, but I'm not moving home." I took a seat on Jayce's couch as my legs grew tired and sore (my entire body felt tired and sore lately, and the astonishing purple and blue shade my skin could turn every time I got a bruise would get anybody's head spinning), burrowing down into the cushion as I draped the throw over my legs. Along with being tired and sore all the time, I was also cold a lot. Freezing, actually, despite the fact that the semester only had less than a single month left before summer break.

"Macey, we want you to take this seriously," Mom said. "And I cannot, in good faith, let you do this alone from across the country."

The front door opened then and Jayce came in, carrying his gym bag over one shoulder. He kicked off his sneakers near the door, dropped the bag, and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. He flashed a charming smile at me, one that made my knees weak, weaker than they already felt, and I smiled back.

"I'm not alone, Mom," I said, and Jayce's eyes stayed on me, listening. "Jayce has been taking care of me."

"No one will be able to take care of you like a mother," my mom huffed, and I barely had the energy to roll my eyes.

"Maybe you should come here then." I'd meant it sarcastically, but the sudden silence on the other end of the line made me panic. "I was joking, Mom," I said before she could get any bright ideas. "I'm fine, I promise." No, you're not.

"You're being dramatic."

No, she's not.

"I have to go,” I said, and pressed the End button on my phone before my mother could continue with whatever charade she was on.

I tossed the phone to the side as Jayce came into the living room with his book bag, setting it down on the couch beside me.

"I brought your homework," he said, pulling a few of my textbooks from his book bag and placing them on the coffee table in front of me. Then he leaned over to rest his lips against my forehead for a moment before taking a seat on the couch next to me.

"Thank you," I said, sidling up to him. "What did I do to deserve you?"

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"You're welcome," he said with a small smile. "But if you get sicker because I enabled your crazy workaholism, I'm gonna be pissed."

I laughed, which was hard to do when my throat felt like raw and bleeding sandpaper, but I shoved the pain away and focused on Jayce instead.

"You look tired," I said softly, and he did. There were dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there before, and his shaggy brown hair was in need of a trim, but I didn't mind it. I knew his coach would, though. "Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you," Jayce said with a weak smile. "We can't both be tired, can we?"

"We can and we are." I took the bottle of water Jayce handed me and took a sip, coughing. I was so thirsty, but the pain was almost too much to tolerate. Every time something hit my stomach, I felt the urge to vomit. "Slow sips," Jayce instructed, leaning in to rest one hand on my back. "You need to stay hydrated."

"I've been drinking like a fish," I joked, but Jayce didn't laugh.

"I'm serious, Mace," he said. "These small things are important." His sad eyes stayed glued to my own, challenging me to retaliate, but I couldn't. I didn't have it in me.

"Have you gotten much sleep?" I asked, finally breaking his gaze.

"I've gotten enough," he said, and I shook my head.

"There's no way. Not with school and practice and being here, let alone coming to my chemo appointments with me."

"I sleep when you sleep," Jayce said with a faint smile.

"You can't do that," I told him. "It's important that you stay healthy, Jayce, because who else is going to take care of me?" It was meant as a joke, but my words must have hit him hard because Jayce frowned, his expression falling into one that I couldn't quite read.

"I will take care of you forever and always," he said firmly. "Even if I never get another wink of sleep again."

I reached out for him, taking his hand in mine, squeezing. "I know you will," I whispered, my voice catching with emotion. "But let me take care of you, too."